


Aftershocks

by Hathor



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Gen, Torture, Violence, Waterboarding, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2016-12-07
Packaged: 2018-09-07 05:05:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8784247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hathor/pseuds/Hathor
Summary: When they exited the pods of the game, they couldn't find Seto anywhere in the building. They couldn't find the Big Five either. It wasn't so difficult to put two and two together. [Warnings: graphic descriptions of torture and violence]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ARCatSK](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=ARCatSK).



> this is inspired by ARCatSK's wonderful fanart: http://arcatsk.deviantart.com/art/You-monsters-647824315
> 
> Without the spaces. It's beautiful. This is a platonic relationship fic. However if you want to think of it as the beginning to something more, then knock yourself out. Enjoy and please heed the warnings.

The security guards betrayed him.

 

In a way, he maybe deserved what was going on now and what would most probably happen next. It was his fault he didn’t personally handpick the people in charge of his safety. His brother’s safety. It was so cliché it actually made him cringe. Especially at this time when he should have been more careful, with the unrest going on amongst the Big Five and the stunt they pulled with the Virtual Reality game and teaming up with Pegasus before that…

 

Their plan didn’t work. Obviously, however, that wasn’t going to deter them. He had woken from the pod he had been trapped in, unable to leave except by winning that game that went just too far for it to be legal. The last thing he remembered was the face of one of the frankly shit security team, a blinding pain in his temple, followed by complete darkness.

 

It was a bad day from the start right up—or down—to this exact moment as he regained his grasp on reality.

 

A part of him thought that perhaps waking up in and of itself was a gratifying notion. After the past few weeks, with Mokuba’s kidnapping and what just happened in the game, he now knew the Big Five would do anything to stay in power and it was impossible to keep a positive outlook on things. It was difficult, therefore, to find joy in consciousness with the pounding headache that felt as though it was trying to tear his head apart, and the fact that he realized he was bound, hand and foot.

 

It suggested that perhaps this day was getting worse and worse every passing second.

 

He opened his eyes with difficulty, almost crying at how bad the pain behind his eyes was. He pulled at his arms, confirming with sight and hearing, along with sensation that, indeed, he was shackled both hands and feet by long, sturdy, scary-looking shackles. The manacles easily surrounded his limbs, fitting around them not tight enough to kill circulation, but enough for him to feel them pressing against his skin. And from them, extended very thick, very ominous-looking chains, which were long enough to allow him the slightest of movements in his very same position, but no more than half a step from where he was held. The end was attached to a loop that was embedded very –very—securely into the wall of the…

 

Just where was he?

 

He took a look around him, for the first time starting to shiver heavily, not because of the cold –although it _was_ cold in here—but because of the fear that suddenly started gnawing at the pit of his stomach.

 

The place looked like something out of a lame, historical horror movie. It was very dark. He couldn’t see the far corners of it. It had no windows at all, and the only way out seemed to be the bars that constituted the door of the place. The stone, which the whole…cell –for there was no other word for it—was made of, was damp. He felt the coldness of the place seeping through his clothes to cool his flesh, making him shiver more and more…

 

It reminded him of Pegasus’ dungeons.

 

He pulled experimentally at the shackles, only to find out that there was no way at all out them. He reprimanded himself mentally, because…really, he could see and feel that there was no way out of them; so why was he frustrating himself even more by trying to pull on them? What, was he checking to see how helpless he was?

 

He blinked, trying to force his eyes to adjust to the dim, almost nonexistent light. Where was he? What was going on? It was very, very obvious the Big Five were behind this. He knew this was, as it always was, about Kaiba Corporation. He just didn’t understand what the purpose of this was and how his kidnap was going to solve anything. He owned the controlling interest in the company. There was no point in this, as opposed to when Mokuba was the one kidnapped. Back then, they had used his little brother to try and persuade him to give up his control of the company. What was the point of making a move on him now?

 

He shifted, adjusting his position, because his right foot was dead, and the chains were digging into his thigh rather painfully. Once more, he took another look around him, examining the place, whose corners he could actually see right now. It was not much different from when he first examined the place. The only conclusion he came to was that the place was completely bare except for himself and the chains he was attached to and a huge basin in the corner with a faucet attached to its far edge. The pipes were rusty but, as with everything in the place, looked very sturdy and menacing.

 

Fear was a feeling he was familiar with. Naturally, it wasn’t a very pleasant feeling. He thought he had left it behind so many years ago. The past few weeks showed him that perhaps he was too naïve to think he wasn’t going to feel this afraid ever again.

 

He worried about Mokuba… about Yugi. No, it wasn’t Yugi. It was his other self. There was no way the person who stood with him facing the five-headed dragon was Yugi. He worried they may not have gotten out of the pods. He didn’t want anyone getting involved with the mess KaibaCorp was going through. He didn’t want anyone getting hurt in the process that didn’t involve them at all.

 

The worry was a bit muted than when Mokuba was outright kidnapped, though. At least now those idiots realized that he was the only one that was supposed to get involved in any shit related to the corporation. He was glad it was him, this time, without involving Mokuba or anyone else.

 

He was human, though. He was still scared, the fear coiling tightly in the pit of his stomach and making his heart race uncomfortably.

 

So, he leaned his back against the wall, pulled his legs up, knees brought closer to his chest, and placed his hands on them, looking at the door and trying to force his heart to stop thundering in his chest.

 

And there, like that, he waited.

 

*-*-*-*-*-*

 

Seto was missing.

 

Yugi didn’t know if this was supposed to be as terrifying as it should be or bordering on hilarious. Now that his grandfather was safe home and the nagging worry about him subsided, he had time to really think of what happened over the past few weeks. The Kaiba brothers were obviously in a very bad position right now. First with Seto vanishing, then Mokuba’s kidnap right before them, then Seto’s near suicide. After getting things straight with Yami and making sure he knew how horrified he was he was just letting Seto kill himself over a duel, no matter how important it was or what was at stake, he had witnessed for himself how things had gotten worse for the Kaiba brothers. Even after setting them free from Pegasus and the Big Five’s dangerous virtual game…

 

They had all exited the pods to find Anzu and Honda waiting for them, looking relieved. After a short explanation, they found out that the security had been trying to break into the room, but suddenly stopped and left them alone. Mokuba had immediately gone searching for Seto. After looking for him in the room where his pod had been and not finding him there, then systematically going through all the places he could be at in the whole building, realization dawned on them.

 

The Big Five were nowhere to be found either. The black suited security had disappeared as well. there was no trace of them anywhere. There was no trace of Seto, anywhere.

 

It wasn’t difficult to put two and two together.

 

Mokuba was frantic… and Yugi was sympathetic. The younger Kaiba was terrified. And although he had all of them huddled all around him, Yugi knew he felt very lonely.

 

He could relate. He put himself in Mokuba’s place and it didn’t feel very nice. Yami may be strange. He was an alien presence in his mind and, deep down, he kind of scared him in quite a substantial way. But he was the most dependable person in his life. With Yami whatever worries he had dulled. The anxiety that used to ruin his life and relationships and his ability to deal with any situation was getting less crippling with every new challenge they faced together. Solid and steadfast and so comforting, Yami was in Yugi’s back, his own back providing support he could lean on without fear of falling.

 

He imagined Seto was the same for Mokuba. The thought of Yami’s strength disappearing from his life for any reason left him uneasy.

 

That unease mirrored, on a surprisingly smaller scale, the agitation he felt radiating from the presence within his own mind. It was a bit of a surprise, in all honesty.

 

He stood to the side, as Mokuba tried contacting the police to explain that Seto was missing. They were giving him a hard time and Yugi could feel his nervousness growing but he wasn’t sure if it his own feelings about the situation, or Yami’s bleeding through.

 

“Yami, are you alright?” he felt he needed to ask through their mind link.

 

Yami stood in the corridor between their rooms. His eyes were dark, expression unreadable.

 

“I do not like this, Aibou,” Yami replied, his voice low. “These men have proven they are harmful. I do not like the idea of Kaiba in their hold while we wait for help to find him.”

 

Yugi blinked. “I don’t know what we can do, Yami,” for some reason, he sounded so apologetic to his own ears. He knew he was being useless to Yami, as usual… for some reason, he felt that helping Seto was so important to Yami and he was unable to do anything to help.

 

He couldn’t understand what exactly was happening between his other self and the older Kaiba. It wasn’t hate and it couldn’t be mere rivalry. Yami had felt so much anger at Seto’s defeat at Pegasus’ hands that his self-control broke, letting him take over Yugi’s body to emerge livid and promising a dark end to the white-haired older man. The agitation Yami was feeling now at Seto’s absence added to the puzzle of how Yami felt towards the callous, stone-hearted brunet.

 

Yami didn’t answer him. He stood thoughtful in the middle of the corridor, not moving and not giving any other comment on the situation, but his tension so palpable, it made Yugi want to gasp.

 

Mokuba was currently hurling his phone at the wall, letting out a cry of frustration while surrendering to the tears that had been threatening to fall ever since he couldn’t find Seto where he was supposed to be, almost two hours ago. Yugi rushed over to his side and placed a hand on his shoulder. The kid looked so panicked and wild, as if he was going mad. He wrapped his arms around his shoulders, letting him fall apart like he wanted.

 

Within his own mind, Yami was hitting his fist against the wall of their joined corridor in frustration.

 

*-*-*-*-*-*

 

It turned out to be even more cliché than he initially thought.

 

It was actually very stupid. And he didn’t know what the point behind it was.

 

Apparently, where their wits and strategy failed miserably, they realized that they had no other option except brute force to persuade him.

 

Literally.

 

They had appeared before him. Ugly and evil looking as ever. They made sure to let him know why he was here. They were going to ‘persuade him’ to give up KaibaCorp’s ownership to them and disappear out of the picture forever.

 

He hated the disadvantage of being on the ground and having to stare up at those five idiots. He hated having to look up at them as they sneered and snickered among themselves as if they were so sure that whatever came next would surely make him change his mind and give up the empire he had worked hard to get to. He was so angry.

 

He knew, though. Deep down, he knew he was using his anger at the situation to mask the fear that was otherwise going to drown him in the undertows of its paralyzing myriad of reactions, starting from unnoticeable sweat slicking his bound hands up to pleas for mercy that he knew he wasn’t going to get at the hands of these monsters who had proven the word didn’t exist in their dictionary at all.

 

It didn’t matter, anyway. Both the anger and fear were accompanied by a split second of humiliation and utter indignity and all of those mashed up together when he was grabbed by the locks of his brown hair to properly expose his face to the large, meaty fist of one of the goons hired for this purpose specifically…

 

The first few blows were useful. To him and to his captors.

 

They had used the daze he had passed into from the shock of pain and brutal display of violence to render him unresponsive for a few precious minutes. They had used those minutes well. He was unshackled from the wall, but not to be released completely. The chain was attached to the ceiling, pulled tightly and fixed securely so he was pulled almost to his tiptoes, hands bound above his head to expose every part of his body to whatever they had in store for him next.

 

He had taken advantage of those few minutes as well. But not intentionally, or with a well thought out plan like them. The first few blows hurt like nothing ever did before. He could feel the bruises already forming. Along his left jaw and cheekbone. The second blow’s weight had landed entirely on his left cheekbone and the arch of his brow… the skin broke. It was all a big myriad of unpleasant feelings; sudden burning, lasting stinging and dull ache that melted into the sensations from the blow that followed. He was paralyzed with it, letting them move him as they pleased, but he started noticing something. The pain and its sub-categories of unpleasant sensations became one constant ache and he started getting numb to the blows.

 

He wasn’t given enough time to recover enough to start realizing the exact damage done. It all blended together, to form a huge, unidentifiable period of massive agony that he couldn’t even begin to discern where its boundaries were.

 

He didn’t think of it. It was easier to just think of the pain of one big period of time than to try and think of what kind of pain will be caused by the next blow and where exactly it was going to land. He allowed himself to let his thoughts wander away. There was no other way for it. He had to disconnect, otherwise, he would weaken. He had to focus on the hideous pattern on the cheap, black polyester suit the solid wall of flesh inflicting continuous blows on him with the persistence and tirelessness of someone doing this for a living on regular basis.

 

He realized the futility of his efforts, however, when his evidently inappropriate response to the savage beating he was receiving annoyed the large thug. He was obviously expected to give a more dramatic response than the lifeless way with which he hung from the ceiling, making no sound except very rarely when the breath was beaten out of his body, gasping only softly when the pain became too much. The response too meager compared to the physical effort placed behind the blows. Drowning in the laughter and evil little chuckles emitted from the Big Five and the other thugs present in the cell.

 

Generally, being disappointing…

 

The laughter had died down. They were bored with his substandard response. Naturally, the efforts were increased to try and tear a more apt response from him.

 

The scream of agony that erupted from very deep within him echoed for many seconds after a muted, sickening snap was heard when a fist collided with his right side. It wasn’t the first time since this nightmare started. It wasn’t even the strongest hit he had received so far. But, it was the most thought out one. It was placed right at the angle his ribs formed to taper backwards towards his back… with just the right position chosen and the proper application of force and the bone gave.

 

He didn’t realize that his eyes had clenched shut against the pain. He didn’t realize that perhaps he made more sounds than just that tormented scream that escaped him unchecked. He didn’t realize that his hair was sticking to the sides of his face and the back of his neck, soaked with sweat and—towards his face—blood and tears that flowed out of tear ducts that have been hollow and abandoned for years and were now spilling their contents unchallenged by any self restraint he might have possessed. It was instincts at work. Involuntary body reactions when the natural response to move away from the pain, curl up around it and flex to protect himself against it, failed…

 

But after the initial agony faded for just an iota… his very second nature kicked in.

 

Flushed with humiliation at weakening and showing it, he kept his eyes clenched shut and buried his wet face into his stretched-taut right upper arm. His pride flared with pain much more considerable than his physical one, making him bite hard onto his lower lip to silence any further cries of pain trying to tear through him. He breathed heavily through his nose, trying to calm himself and get his reaction to the pain under some semblance of control…

 

He was still trying –and failing—to do so when someone spoke.

 

“You don’t have to put yourself through this, Seto… you know what to do. Just sign the papers…”

 

He was disgusted to feel one of them touching him. A fat, meaty hand was on his hair. It was probably meant to be a fatherly pat on the head…

 

His eyes slid open. Just small slits, half blinded by the pain and hazy with the tears burning them. He couldn’t see clearly who was in front of him. The sentiment was the same, however.

 

Before he could stop himself, he had gathered whatever his fear-dried mouth could produce from saliva and with all the anger and fear that dominated his senses at that moment, spat in the man’s face.

 

It gave him a huge measure of satisfaction to see the man cringe back in shock, releasing his hold on his hair. He summoned his best glare even though he couldn’t see very clearly, but making sure to put as much venom into his look as he could summon, determinedly keeping his eyes open. He did not know if he was going to get out of this alive; he decided to get as much pleasure as he could from any source he could find. And right now, there was nothing more pleasing to the eye than watching the older man wiping away the wetness on his face with a handkerchief he produced from his pocket.

 

It was a stupid thing to do, he knew that.

 

And he braced himself for the consequences of his childish need to piss off his captors.

 

Or at least, he tried to.

 

He didn’t know how much longer passed. He lost all sense of time and place. At some moments, he lost all sense of position as well. His perception of time was altered. It now became random bits and pieces consisting of short, transient moments of terror and anxiety as he wondered where the next blow would land, and longer, more blissful stretches of time, where he almost slipped into the gentle, but ever-elusive unconsciousness.

 

He was just grateful when he realized that it all stopped for now. The horrifying snap heard over his ribs had repeated twice more. His left wrist and one of his fingers. His left hand was cradled uselessly into his body which he realized was now in the corner of the room.

 

Unconsciously, he must have pulled himself there after they had let him down from the ceiling’s shackles. He was curled up into fetal position. He didn’t know if he was trying to make himself smaller or if it was a natural body reaction to the immense pain he was currently suffering from.

 

He couldn’t dwell on it much longer. Darkness was at the edges of his vision and he chased it gratefully, hoping never to awaken again.

 

*-*-*-*-*-*

 

Yugi insisted Mokuba stayed with them.

 

Sugoroku made sure to usher the boy into the guest room, depositing towels and showing him to the bathroom and offering change of clothes. When he emerged from the shower, the old man continued his endless fussing, leading the way down to the kitchen, seating the boy and starting to make a hearty chicken noodle soup and urging Mokuba to eat.

 

Yugi knew the younger Kaiba’s stomach was too tied up in knots to put anything in it. But there was no stopping his grandfather. He didn’t even try. He kind of agreed with him, to be honest; he and the others had eaten when they got back from Duelist Kingdom. Considering the frankly suicidal manner both Kaiba brothers acted, Yugi wasn’t so sure if they bothered eating anything. And so, he didn’t lift a finger to try and help Mokuba.

 

Yami was frantic, Yugi observed as he sat quietly beside Mokuba as he grudgingly ate. He wasn’t sure what to do to make his Dark settle down. He didn’t even know why he was so anxious; he thought he hated Seto.

 

“I don’t hate him, Aibou…” Yami corrected.

 

“Well, considering that you both almost killed each other last time you met, I find that hard to believe,” he dryly answered. There was a small flinch from Yami, followed by silence and Yugi immediately realized his mistake, “I’m sorry…” he rushed, wanting to slap himself.

 

“Err…it’s alright,” Yami mumbled. Yugi cringed slightly at his lack of tact. He knew Yami regretted what happened at the top of the tower before the gates of the castle’s entrance, leading them to the finals. It was a touchy subject for his Dark. He was usually more thoughtful when it came to it, but he had been careless. “But really… I don’t hate him. He is a good friend.”

 

Yugi couldn’t help raising an eyebrow at him so he tutted impatiently, flushing.

 

“Alright, alright,” Yugi rushed, not wanting to make his friend uncomfortable.

 

“We shouldn’t be sitting idly like this while he is missing,” Yami insisted.

 

“Look, I don’t know what to do. We don’t know where he is and we have no way of knowing where he is, the police have started an investigation so we should just let them do their job,” Yugi finalized. He knew Yami did not like this, but there really wasn’t anything else they could do but be there for Mokuba.

 

He expected Yami to argue. He didn’t.

 

“Alright,” his Dark softly replied, a thoughtful expression in his crimson eyes.

 

Yugi watched him reenter his Soul Room. Yugi stood staring after him for a few moments, then forced himself to turn his attention back to Mokuba who needed it more than Yami did at the moment.

 

The next few hours passed with Mokuba pacing around and Yugi following him around. Sometimes he offered words of comfort and sometimes he stayed silent. It took all of his concentration to not sound stupid and say something out of place. After his grandfather was taken captive by Pegasus, he had suffered silently with people telling him everything would be alright eventually at the exact wrong moments. He tried to do a better job for Mokuba.

 

Eventually, the younger boy surrendered to his tiredness. Yugi made sure to place a hot water bottle in the bed in the guest room to keep the bed warm and draped one extra blanket on top of Mokuba when he finally closed his eyes, drifting off to sleep almost immediately. He drew the curtains to shut out the orange street lights entering the room through the raindrop-splattered glass and switched off the lights, heading to his own room.

 

However, he was just about to take off his shoes and settle in for bed as well when Yami spoke, “Sorry, Yugi… but we need to do something.”

 

Yugi sighed in exasperation, “Really, Yami, there’s nothing we can do. Just settle down for tonight and leave this to the police.”

 

“The police didn’t exactly help when your grandfather went missing,” Yami pointed out. “I have an idea…”

 

“What?” Yugi asked, interested.

 

“Take us to Bakura’s house…”

 

*-*-*-*-*-*

 

He had woken up before they came back. It was dark. He didn’t know if it was dark, _still_ , or if light never reached this place and the darkness would remain. He didn’t know if it was a comfort or a curse. He didn’t dwell on it. Instead, he thought about the smell of rust hanging in the air. His mind, too clear for it to be comfortable, supplied that this wasn’t rust. It was the smell of dried blood.

 

He didn’t dare move a single muscle. He didn’t know how long the reprieve was going to last and he was not about to add to his own suffering by trying to move. It was a pity his broken rib’s parts didn’t misalign and penetrate his lung. He would have bled into his own lung and drowned from the inside on his own blood…died peacefully in the darkness he had slipped into.

 

He didn’t know what was going to happen to him. He was too stubborn and too proud to sign off the papers that released ownership of his corporation over to the Big Five. And it was that; stubbornness and pride. He was not going to lose everything after the many years of plotting and planning. And to what? To this…this brutal, basic method that lacked finesse. No. He was stronger than that. He had survived a battle of wills with a serpent like Gozaburo…he was going to survive this.

 

It was a decision he made in the absolute darkness around him, lying completely still on his side, his broken hand cradled into his equally broken ribs.

 

He wasn’t so sure of that decision’s feasibility when they returned.

 

Hands had grabbed him. Moved him. The pain from that alone was almost enough to nauseate him, almost breaking his resolve and making him give in. His entire focus was on trying to hold himself together not to beg for the pain to stop.

 

It wasn’t until he was on his knees in front of the large basin beside the wall that he started understanding what will happen next. It was filled with water… he was pushed to his knees before it. Two men stood behind him, both of them easily twice his size. Clearly, there was a point behind this placement, behind the basin and the fact that it was filled to the brim with water…

 

Within split seconds, his mind made the awful connection and that was where the horror at the realization released just the right amount of adrenaline to numb whatever pain he was feeling and he started to struggle. Unfortunately, before he could move to try and distance himself from the water –although a dark, savage part of his own mind knew he had nowhere to go—a broad hand wrapped all the way around his neck, squeezing tightly, effectively holding him in place as well as cutting off his air supply.

 

The panic from seeing the water and realizing its purpose faded just a bit to the back of his mind as the large, meaty fingers squeezed at his neck that suddenly seemed too small… he felt too small; it was a very strange and unwelcome sensation. He wasn’t small in any way and usually his height gave him an advantage, but right now he felt too tiny trapped as he was. The painful pressure on his windpipe was a feeling rivaled only by his increasing need for air. His eyes were tearing up once more and he was gasping, trying to take in breath through a pathway that was blocked.

 

Suddenly, the hold on his neck was released.

 

There was a split second of relief, where he took just one single gulp of air into his lungs and released it. He was preparing to take his second breath in, when another hand suddenly grabbed hold of his hair tightly and before he could react, before he could struggle, before he could be _ready_ , his head was pushed forward, getting dunked without pause into the very dark pit of water before him.

 

His lungs weren’t filled with air. He wasn’t ready… he didn’t think any stretch of time could make him ready for this. The coolness of the water itself made him gasp. But instead of air entering his airway, it was cold liquid. He choked and struggled, survival instincts kicking in. His uselessly broken hand found strength and ignored the previously excruciating pain. It was holding onto the edge of the basin, pushing with all his might against it with the other hand along with all the strength he could muster at the moment, trying to push back and raise his forcibly submerged head out and above the water’s surface…

 

It was useless.

 

He was too weak. Yet in spite of that, he continued struggling. There was nothing else he could do. He was caught in a vicious cycle. The initial gasp of surprise he took against his will and the water he breathed in caused his body to convulse, trying to cough out the liquid. It caused him to gasp once more, only to take in more water and increase his panic and renew his futile struggles. To make things worse, he started gagging which eventually worsened his current situation that seemed like it couldn’t get any worse.

 

He was drowning. He was suffocating.

 

He was dying…

 

His struggles grew weaker. Apparently, that was the cue they were waiting for. The hand holding him under the water pulled harshly at his head and out of the water.

 

Unconsciously, he gasped hungrily for air. He has never felt pleasure more powerful than the sensation of sweet oxygen reaching his lungs. Finally, finally, he could breathe again. He coughed and splattered and tried to struggle out of the vice-like hold on him. There was a lot of commotion; he was confused, dizzy and unable to determine what was happening. And before he could satiate himself with air, he was horrified to find the hold on a handful of his hair and tugging hard enough to nearly scalp him, tightening and he knew what was coming next.

 

Time lost its meaning. His awareness of time was no longer categorized into moments, seconds and minutes. It became something more terrifying. Periods of getting dunked underwater, sometimes very short if he wasn’t prepared for it and a great deal longer if he dared try to get ready for it by gasping in a breath which eventually ran out under the water until he was forced to inhale under the surface, suffocating himself. There was also the very short moments spent outside the water. Very short. Too short. Not enough.

 

The cycle repeated too many times and he lost count. He was too busy trying to do something about his predicament to try and count. He couldn’t stop what was happening. He couldn’t just die and be done with what was happening. He couldn’t do anything other than struggle futilely.

 

Finally… he was pulled out of the water but this time, he was flung like a rag doll to the corner he had been curled up in. He landed on his broken wrist but didn’t exactly try to change his position. He lay down on the floor, coughing uncontrollably and trying to gasp in air and fill his starved lungs. He could feel his face getting scraped by the stone floor and that the cut on his brow was bleeding again. The blood smelled so strong, adding to his discomfort and entering his eye as the water that soaked his hair pushed down his face.

 

Something was being said above him. He could also hear laughter and cruel jabs and jokes being said. He tuned everything out and focused on trying to just breathe properly. He just noticed that someone said something about leaving him for a little while to rethink of his answer to their proposal.

 

Then, he was dragged by the chains attached to his feet for a few footsteps. He offered no resistance as the clink of metal was heard as the chains were attached once more to the wall. There was the sound of footsteps and through hazy, tearful eyes he could see people leaving the cell. He held on to the tattered remains of whatever consciousness he had until he heard absolute silence around him, then allowed his eyes to slide shut, letting beautiful darkness overtake his senses and give him reprieve from the agony he was currently going through.

 

*-*-*-*-*-*

 

“Relax, Aibou. Bakura will understand,” Yami was reassuring him.

 

“I hardly think so,” Yugi timidly pointed out.

 

“I will _persuade_ him.”

 

Yami was scary, at times. Yugi knew what he was capable of. What the puzzle wrapped around his neck was capable of. It was frightening now to think of it. It was frightening to remember what Yami did to people before he, Yugi, managed to find a way to communicate with him. Before the dependable and loyal person Yami was right now, there was a completely terrifying stranger. There was anger and rage that made itself known while Yugi was unaware. Thankfully, that was all behind them.

 

Or at least Yugi hoped so.

 

Bakura had answered the door, looking sleepy. Yami had asked to come in, saying he needed help. Bakura let him in, looking bewildered. Yami had waited until the door closed and he stated his purpose. He needed the Millennium Ring.

 

Bakura argued he didn’t have it. Honda threw it away. Yami was resolute, repeating his demand. Yugi was worried and voiced out his concern and Yami stated that he was going to persuade Bakura to help them.

 

“I don’t have it, Yugi. Leave, I don’t understand what you want.” Bakura was obviously just as adamant.

 

“Let me speak to him,” Yami calmly said. Yugi didn’t understand. Speak to who? He didn’t understand what was happening. And for sure, Bakura too didn’t understand…

 

To his surprise, Bakura’s entire demeanor changed before his eyes. He didn’t know what changed, exactly. His entire body language seemed…wrong, somehow. His eyes were now shadowed as well, a smirk playing on his extremely pale features and Yugi generally felt uneasy looking at him, knowing that something was just wrong with his usually calm friend.

 

And when he spoke next, Yugi’s puzzlement just increased tenfold.

 

“You must be very desperate to come asking me for help.”

 

“Seto Kaiba is missing… I need you to help me find him using your Ring,” Yami stated his purpose once more, this time elaborating a bit further.

 

“What makes you think I will help you do anything, Pharaoh?”

 

Yami raised an eyebrow at that. “What did you call me?” he asked, sounding genuinely confused.

 

Bakura approached him. He stood too close for it to be comfortable, invading Yami’s personal space and Yugi could feel the unease rolling off his Dark at the close proximity. For long, long moments, he stood staring with dark brown, almost black eyes into Yami’s crimson ones. Silence hung thick in the air, broken only by the occasional rumble of thunder outside in the storm raging outside.

 

“You really don’t know who you are, do you?” Bakura seemed amazed by that.

 

“What are you talking about?” Yami asked, frowning and his eyes flashing in annoyance.

 

Bakura laughed. It seemed to irritate Yami even more. “Well…I could tell you… but you have to choose. Do you need my help finding your Priest, or would you like us to sit down and have a little chat about… things.” He said the last part with a chuckle.

 

“My…priest?” Yami repeated.

 

Inside his own head, Yugi was telling Yami, “Ask him what he means… let’s find out. He may know who you are. Maybe he has the answers to the questions you wanted an answer to.”

 

Uncertainty was rolling off Yami in waves. It was obvious he wanted to know what Bakura –or whoever it was who was with them in the room—meant. But soon, the determination that had been fueling Yami’s actions ever since they left the Game Shop was evident once more.

 

“No, Bakura… tell me where to find Kaiba. I am sure whatever interesting stories you have to tell can wait until we can be sure he is safe,” Yami decided. Yugi had to admit that if their positions had been switched, he would not have had the same self-discipline Yami governed himself at this moment with.

 

For some bizarre reason, Bakura was going to help them. Yugi didn’t understand what was going on. This stranger –because surely, this couldn’t be their friend—had muttered something about needing Seto later on. For what purpose and when exactly that ‘later on’ was, they did not know. They were on the move again. Bakura did not bother getting under the umbrella, deeming it laughable and walked before Yami, his Millennium Ring making an appearance on his chest and proving that Honda throwing it away apparently wasn’t enough to get rid of it for good.

 

He was led to the suburbs. Yugi’s restlessness was growing. Bakura wasn’t to be trusted. He did not know why Yami did this, why he sought out this…this stranger’s help. He could be leading him out of town under the ruse of helping out.

 

They reached a wrought-iron fence, holding a garden with high trees within it. Yugi was just about to ask Yami to turn back and leave; obviously, Bakura was just playing them. And that was being optimistic. He could be planning something a lot more sinister than ‘playing them’. However, before he could voice his concerns, the white-haired young man turned around suddenly, using the fact that Yami couldn’t stop in time and grabbed him by wrapping one arm around his waist, the other hand holding on to Yami’s wrist and pushed him quickly into the fence.

 

Yami opened his mouth to cry out when one of the iron bars dug viciously into his back, causing dull pain to shoot up all over his spine. However, Bakura’s hand that had settled on one of his hips rose, covering his mouth tightly to drown the sound. Yami struggled, trying to shake off the white-haired teen’s firm hold on him and Yugi could clearly read the intent to use physical violence.

 

“Shut up, or this whole rescue mission goes to hell,” Bakura stopped him by hissing angrily in his ear, voice low and urgent and his hold tightening on his wrist, other hand pressing tighter against his lips to make sure he kept quiet.

 

Within just a few seconds, realization dawned on both of them. Yami kept still but Yugi still felt uneasy as darkness surrounded them. It was the same darkness that wrapped around them while they dueled Pegasus. There was nothing in the world that could reassure him that any good could ever come out of that darkness. His agitation bled over to Yami, who was already too tense and taut with adrenaline at being grabbed and held still so suddenly. In an instinctual reaction, Yami tried moving once again.

 

Bakura swore under his breath and he pushed him tighter with his larger frame against the fence.

 

“Someone’s coming,” Bakura hissed, his voice still low. “You can grow up and stand still for a few seconds or we get busted and you can kiss your Priest’s pretty ass goodbye, you little brat!”

 

Yami closed his eyes and stayed still. Yugi forced himself to calm down as well.

 

Soon, he understood what was happening when he heard loud, boisterous conversation coming from just around the corner. There was a group of men, all in intimidating black suits that made all of them look the same for some bizarre reason. It didn’t help that all of them had a similar look of sadistic pleasure painted across their features and Yugi felt his heart hammering in his chest. He had seen that look before; he could recognize it anywhere and on anyone’s features no matter how much time had passed since the last time he saw it. It was the same look of aggressive accomplishment that distorted the features of every single person who picked on him before he became friends with Jonouchi and the others. Before the puzzle. Before Yami’s protection.

 

In spite of the situation, and in spite of his own discomfort with Bakura’s proximity and the fact that he was restrained and that obviously inspired anxiety of his own, Yami held his hand as they stood in the corridor between their soul rooms. Yugi looked up, knowing that his apprehension was clearly written on his face and was met by the open, encouraging expression on Yami’s own features.

 

“Stay brave, Aibou. They cannot see us. I am here with you.”

 

Heart rate calming just a little at the reassurance and now that he understood that the darkness surrounding them was hiding them from view, he watched as the group lazily came closer, their boisterous conversation becoming clearer.

 

It wasn’t a conversation, per se. It was more like a string of jeers and awful hollers that broke the mantra formed by the falling of raindrops on the concrete and the rustle of tree leaves in the wind. They were excited, discussing what Yugi was horrified to hear were the details of what Seto was obviously going through as they spoke. Quite easily, Yugi forgot all about his fear as it was replaced rapidly by anger at the honestly disgusting way with which someone’s pain was mocked. And knowing the kind of shit Seto just went through in the past few weeks did not lessen his anger any. He definitely did not need what these scum were implying was done to him.

 

Yami was now grateful for Bakura’s tight hold on him. He wasn’t so sure he could have held himself still at what they were hearing.

 

Luckily, they had moved farther away before Yami lost his self control and moved even against Bakura's will. He was concerned they were too late. He feared for the older Kaiba’s life which was clearly in danger. He jerked his face away from Bakura’s hand and hissed, “Let’s follow them.”

 

“Oh no…” Bakura whispered back. “I have nothing to do with this.”

 

“Fine. Let me go…” Yami snapped back at him, shoving him away.

 

“Ungrateful brat,” Bakura commented, shaking his white-haired head in mock disbelief. “Follow them into the house. You will find him in the basement. He will not be alone and he most probably will not be in any condition to leave with you. I will phone the police.”

 

Yugi was going to suggest they waited for the police. Yami immediately disagreed.

 

“While we wait for them to try and find out if the anonymous tip is a real lead or not, he might die at their hands in there. No we shall not wait…” determination was the dominant tone in his voice as he spoke to Yugi through the link.

 

The darkness still surrounded them even when Bakura left. It made Yugi a bit nervous that Yami could conjure up the same darkness Pegasus could. It reassured him just a small bit as well. Surely, someone with immense power like that was going to be safe, right?

 

“Aibou…” Yami’s voice was sterner than usual. Yugi blinked and looked up at him. “You heard what they were saying. You understand what is going on inside right now… what our friend is going through. Surely, we cannot sit around waiting.” It was what Yugi knew was true deep down. He couldn’t help the fear making his heart race. “Let’s go…”

 

Yami made his way around the fence until he reached the gates that led towards a large mansion. The gates were still open, the group of suited men standing there. They had obviously been out buying cigarettes which they were now sharing with the man standing guard at the gate. Yami slipped inside, hurrying towards the house. The front door was open and Yugi was so happy for their good luck.

 

It took Yami a few minutes until he found the stairway leading to the basement. Yami descended the stairs quickly and carefully. There were sounds coming from below. Yugi felt apprehension intensifying at the truthfully disturbing myriad of noises getting clearer with every step Yami took.

 

There was no lights on except for a depressing overhead yellow lamp hung in the corridor that stretched before the staircase. The commotion came from the end of the corridor which Yami crossed with fearlessness that Yugi had to question for a few moments until he began to discern for himself what the sounds were. The sound of laughter… sick, twisted and evil laughter, offering some kind of perverse background music to other sounds. The sound of something whooshing through air quickly, a loud crack that raised his hairs on end, followed by a sharp, wet snapping sound. There was a hoarse cry of agony that Yugi was sure was going to stay in his nightmares for years to come.

 

Yami broke out into a run. He turned around a corner and stopped in his tracks at the sight that met him.

 

*-*-*-*-*-*

 to be continued...


	2. Chapter 2

This time, he was woken when a fist connected once more to the side of his head.

 

The cut above his eyebrow that had stopped bleeding, forming a crust of what was most probably a disgusting powdery brown that stuck his hair to the side of his face, reopened. Hot liquid dribbled sluggishly down his cheek after pooling at the corner of eyelid for a moment, a little bit entering his eye and burning it a little.

 

He was trying to blink it away when he was pulled by the chains that surrounded his wrists again to the center of the room. Once more, he was hung to the hook from the ceiling, dangling helplessly from it. His legs felt too weak to hold him up, yet his broken wrist was too painful to let his arms bear his weight.

 

Against his will, tears of pain slid down his features unchecked.

 

“Are you ready to sign the papers, Seto…?” one of them asked.

 

He was ready to die if it meant the pain would stop, he thought to himself…

 

“He’s already in tears. Of course he is ready to sign the papers…” another one was saying, delighted apparently.

 

Whatever weakness he was feeling was buried behind the anger and humiliation the words stirred up within him. He wished he could just let go. He wished he wasn’t that kind of person. He wished he wasn’t a stupid extremist who went all the way without caring if all the way meant, like in this situation for example, his death. He wished his pride didn’t flare at some petty, stupid comment. He wished he could just give in.

 

It was innate, however. Sheer power of will, stubbornness and pride made him dig up whatever remaining strength he had, forcing him to stand and raise his head. He stared as coldly as he could into their eyes.

 

“Probably not…”

 

He didn’t know what they had in store for him. He couldn’t trust himself to think about it. He was afraid if he went that far with his thoughts, he would falter and his determination would fade. He couldn’t afford thinking of what awaited him for his refusal.

 

He wasn’t kept waiting for long.

 

A loud crack was heard behind him. His heart stopped at the sound of it. He wasn’t stupid or uneducated. His mind made a connection. And even if there was an ounce of uncertainty regarding the source of the crack, one of the suited men stepped from behind him, confirming what he dreaded. He was holding a whip, flicking his wrist in an expert motion. He held his breath in terror that he was sure moved unhindered to his eyes, as the motion traveled along the relatively flexible shaft of the whip, transmitting to the lash which coiled like a serpent, then uncoiled, somewhere along the process the loud crack resounding in the dark, damp cell once again.

 

The man was smiling. It was apparent he found great pleasure in what he was about to do. It was also apparent that he was experimentally trying the whip in front of him on purpose. It was a form of psychological torture. He knew this. Logically, he shouldn’t let the frankly horrifying sound get to his head…But it was futile.

 

It didn’t just get to his head…it terrified him.

 

He was too scared to even breathe. A part of him knew that if he could, he probably would have begged them to stop and that he was going to sign whatever they wanted him to sign. The bravado was all gone now. He didn’t think he even had it in him to hide the fear written clear as day on his features.

 

They were laughing at him once more. He couldn’t bring himself t care about that, either. He wasn’t ready for this… oh God, he didn’t have the strength to deal with this. He couldn’t…His breath quickened painfully as his panic increased tenfold.

 

He couldn’t remember the first kiss of the whip’s lash to his back. He could only remember that it was painful enough that he passed out once again. And when he came to once again, he could feel the lingering pain. The blow had torn the shirt he was wearing. Apparently, it also tore skin. It felt like a flame ran across his back. And he wasn’t given time to adjust. The moment they were sure he was aware once again, the second blow came and it was, if possible, more painful than anything he ever felt.

 

He didn’t pass out again, which led him to believe that it was just the shock that caused the loss of consciousness that first time. He was painfully aware of every crack of the whip and every lash to his back. His shirt was hanging off his torso, useless as the very thin end of the lash cut through it like a sharp knife, leaving his skin unprotected and open to each blow delivered with expert precision.

 

His legs no longer had the strength he managed to scrape together just a little while ago. Uselessly, they crumpled and faltered beneath him. He was dangling useless by the arms from the ceiling. Once more, his eyes had slid shut at the pain and he buried his face into his upper arm, openly and shamelessly crying and not bothering to try and stop his cries of pain at the agony that he just couldn’t deal with in any other way. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t speak, he couldn’t even think of anything other than how much pain he was currently experiencing…

 

Time once more stopped… he couldn’t decide if this was worse or having his head dunked in water was. There was no pattern to the blows. Sometimes the man behind him paused for too long. Sometimes the lashes came continuously one after another until he was sure he had passed out again.

 

For the first time in forever, he prayed. He prayed for death. He prayed so fervently for death, for the darkness that he would never wake from ever again. It would be so much easier than this hell he was going through. He was paralyzed with the pain so he couldn’t even chicken out and say that he would sign over the Corporation to the Big Five. He was bound so he couldn’t escape the whip’s lashes. He knew if he passed out, they would wait for him to wake up to continue. The man behind him was too much of an expert; he didn’t stop. He didn’t tire out, each time laying the whip on an untouched part of his back. In short, the only reprieve he was going to get was if he finally died.

 

He continued praying as the man behind him continued tirelessly to lash at his back. The first time the whip made a cut across one that was there already, the pain was phenomenal. He cried out with his hoarse voice, following it by a sob of misery… everything blended together and he no longer could decipher the difference between moments where the whip didn’t touch him and the moments that it did.

 

In the middle of the red haze of pain, however… he noticed suddenly that the room, previously loud and raging with laughter and jeers at his pain, suddenly fell silent. Thankfully… the whip master’s hand stilled as well and he no longer delivered his blows.

 

Seto didn’t know what was going on, but he was grateful nonetheless for the break. The only sound he could hear for now was his violent breaths as he tried to regulate his oxygen intake amidst the terrible amounts of pain he was experiencing.

 

Amongst the miasma of pain and the smell of blood and the vertigo of lack of oxygen and the nausea of this cocktail of unpleasant feelings, however, he heard a familiar voice. A familiar voice, loud and baritone; so righteous and so shocked…

 

“You… You monsters!”

 

Seto’s eyes flew open in shock.

 

The first thing he saw was a pair of familiar crimson eyes staring into his own in fear, distress and anger. It was then that all hell broke loose.

 

The man holding the whip screamed suddenly from behind him. Seto wasn’t sure what happened to him, but the sound of the screams that followed after that was something out of a horror movie. He could see the other people in the room yelling and screaming, moving away from their comrade who was still screaming in complete agony behind him.

 

“Who the hell are you? Stop it, stop it right now!” someone was yelling. Seto couldn’t tear his eyes away from Yugi—no, the _other_ Yugi. His darker, much more mysterious part. This one had darker eyes, they were scarier too, he could see. But the scary expression in them was disappearing, slowly replaced by fear that he had seen in them once before. “Stop it or we blow his brains out…”

 

There was a click next to his ear and he understood.

 

With utter difficulty, he turned his head slightly towards the source of the sound. Just as he expected, one of them stood with a gun held to his head. He turned to look at Yami, trying to convey the longing he felt burning deep within him. He hoped he understood.

 

He did.

 

Something unreadable flashed in the crimson eyes. Then, it was replaced by even more anger.

 

“Don’t shoot him,” he said, raising his hands in a placating gesture, showing the Big Five that he was surrendering himself to them. Seto almost groaned at Yami’s stupidity. Of course. The self-righteous little shit, he thought angrily. Why couldn’t he just continue whatever the hell he was doing so they would just shoot him in the head and put him out of his misery.

 

He watched in defeat as one of the large men grabbed Yami by his skinny upper arm and pulled him closer. Seto didn’t tear his eyes away from him. He was trying to tell him how stupid he was. He couldn’t speak for the moment and even if he could, his mind, which was previously paralyzed with the intensity of the pain, started working at full speed once more.

 

The gun was moved away from him. Soon, the chains on his wrists were also released.

 

And that was where he realized his predicament. He was crumpling to the floor like a lifeless doll. He closed his eyes and waited for the pain of the collision to come.

 

It never did.

 

Instead of the cold floor colliding with his weakened, injured form, arms slipped around his waist. His head was cradled against a shoulder and a part of a choker-clad neck. His journey towards the cold stone floor continued, but it was slowed down considerably. His knees bent beneath him and the surprisingly solid body that cradled his own broken one close, lowered him gently to the ground. Soon, he found himself propped against that wonderful, comforting, familiar warmth with one leg bent beneath him and the other dragging on the floor next to him.

 

He closed his eyes, his good hand rising to hold on to Yami’s top in a fearful, almost childish manner. Immediately, Yami’s hand rose to the back of his head, gently pulling him closer, cradling him so softly as if shielding him from what was happening. He could just imagine the glare Yami was directing at the group of men standing with them in the room, but he couldn’t open his eyes yet. Another tiny sob of pain left his mouth unchecked at the feeling of safety that suddenly surrounded him. maybe if he opened his eyes…maybe they would be gone and all of this would be a terrible nightmare that thankfully passed?

 

It was a futile thing to wish.

 

There was some commotion and he opened his eyes just in time to see one of the larger men grabbing Yami by the upper arm once again, jerking him away from him with violence, leaving him unsupported and separating them. To his mortification and horror, he body couldn’t hold itself up and fell once the solidity that was holding it up disappeared.

 

“Who the hell are you, brat?” they were asking.

 

Yami kept silent. Seto raised his head to watch, praying that whatever was done to him wouldn’t happen to Yami. To his dismay, it was the man holding the gun who was asking the questions. Through hazy eyes, he could see him raising the gun, before lowering it down quickly, efficiently pistol-whipping Yami on the temple and throwing him to the ground.

 

“Seto…” they were addressing him now. He was more terrified than ever now as he watched the man grabbing a handful of Yami’s hair, pulling hard to raise him up from where he fell. “You know this little shit?”

 

“L…Let him go…” he wanted to yell. To his mortification, it came out as a hoarse whisper, barely even heard.

 

“So you do know him?” he asked, eyes brightening suddenly. “Well since trying to persuade you to sign the papers didn’t work the way we tried before…let’s try something else, then shall we?”

 

Before his terrified blue eyes, he raised the gun. He wanted to slap himself for his stupidity.

 

“Either sign the papers, Seto…or your little heroic friend here dies right before your eyes.”

 

He struggled to keep his head up. It was phenomenal effort that he didn’t think he ever had to do any time before in his life. It was such a simple act as well, to take such effort out of him. But he wanted to meet Yami’s eyes. He wanted to say he really was sorry for this. In spite of all of their differences, Seto did not wish him to get involved in this.

 

Yami’s eyes were shadowed by the blond bangs of his hair. He did not raise his head up; maybe he couldn’t, with the way it was held so brutally. It was either that or that pistol-whip left him unconscious. Either way, he couldn’t continue staring at the sight before him, the gun held so close to Yami’s head. Too dangerous, too real…

 

“What will it be, Seto…?”

 

He almost sobbed once again. All the efforts he spent, all the sleepless nights. All gone. But he couldn’t let Yami die. Not like this. Not for him.

 

“I’ll sign them,” he whispered out in defeat.

 

He was going to avert his gaze from the sight before him. He couldn’t keep his head up any more. There was no point. He was just about to close his eyes and lie there on the ground waiting for his fate when his eyes caught it.

 

At first it was a little faint. A golden light. It was coming from the strange ornament that Yugi wore everywhere, even to school. He blinked a few times, thinking that his mind finally broke, playing tricks on him, but realized that what he was seeing was no hallucination. The pyramid-like ornament was glowing and the glow was increasing dramatically with every passing moment. He also realized that Yami’s eyes, previously shadowed, were now glowing as well.

 

He frowned in confusion.

 

Before he could puzzle over things any longer, he noticed that the man holding the gun was also aware of what was happening. A sharp yell of surprise, followed by a jerk of the hand holding the gun and Seto held his breath in horror, realizing that the man intended to pull the trigger and end Yami’s life.

 

However…something wasn’t right.

 

The cell turned very dark suddenly. The minimal light entering through the cell’s bars disappeared. Everything turned very cold, very suddenly. Seto could feel himself shivering violently. He raised himself so he could properly see what was going on. The man holding the gun had a look of complete terror on his features. The hand holding the gun was moving, pointing it away from Yami.

 

A sickening crack was heard, followed by a loud scream of pain. The man let go of the gun and fell to his knees, holding his wrist in agony.

 

Soon, his screams of pain were joined by cries of terror and agony from everyone else in the room. Seto felt himself hyperventilating as he looked around him. He couldn’t see what was happening. He could only hear the men who had been torturing him for the past God knows how long, screaming as if they were having the pain they inflicted upon him happen to them, only a million times worse. The darkness was now all around him, enveloping each one of his tormentors in its grasp and hiding them from his view.

 

Throughout it all, Yami stood unmoving in front of him. He was still as a statue, eyes glowing quite disturbingly in the dark. His hands were cradling the golden pyramid hanging from his neck, which continued glowing as brightly as Yami’s eyes in the absolute shadows surrounding them. It floated above his cupped hands ominously and the eye etched on it was mirrored in the same golden light on Yami’s forehead. He was completely silent yet anger emanated all around him in palpable waves that quite honestly scared Seto and he wasn’t even going to deny it, his eyes fixed in morbid horror at the intimidating figure Yami presented, standing there as he was.

 

The screams were dying down. Seto did not know if he should be glad or alarmed at that fact. He couldn’t see what was causing these men to screech the way they were currently. And although he wasn’t exactly very happy with what they’ve done to him, his lack of knowledge of what was going on prevented him from feeling any kind of satisfaction at their pain.

 

Soon, one by one, their voices died down. And with the increasing quietness of the place, the darkness started fading. The cell’s bars became more prominent, the light sifting through them brighter. And slowly, the bodies of the men who were standing all around them reappeared from behind the curtains of the dark. Only piled in heaps where they had been standing previously.

 

Seto’s eyes were fixed on them in shock. He didn’t notice at first Yami moving towards him. Only when a hand touched his hair gently, he flinched, jerking his head away from the touch and trying his hardest to get away in an instinctual, purely unconscious gesture of self-protection after what he just witnessed; after what he saw Yami was capable of.

 

Immediately, he regretted the action. He had pulled on his broken ribs, agitated his back… the pain from his broken hand joined in and flared up, as well as each and every little bruise on his body made itself known to him. Unheeded, a whimper of pain escaped him and he clenched his eyes shut against it.

 

“Shhhh…” the soothing sound broke through the throbbing pain and reached his ears. As if by magic, his heart rate started calming considerably. “You’re safe now…”

 

Once again, he raised his head just as Yami sank down to his knees next to him. Slender, strong hands were on his shoulder and his upper arm, slowly and carefully helping him into a more upright position. Seto sucked in a breath in pain when Yami’s fingers accidentally brushed one of the gaping-open wounds on his upper shoulder and immediately, his rival was apologizing, removing his hands from where they were apparently causing him extra pain.

 

“What are you doing here?” he bit out, voice rasping and throat aching. He managed to pull himself into a semi-seated position, his mind adamantly refusing to dwell on the fact that he was using Yami as support so he wouldn’t topple over once again. The pain in his back was maddening… he almost missed Yami’s answer.

 

“I thought it was a bit obvious,” he was saying, allowing him to lean his head against his shoulder once more and bending forward just a bit so he could stare at Seto’s back. Seto could see the tightening of his lips, the way his eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly and the deep flush that spread across his features as he hissed in anger, “I should have killed them…”

 

He wanted to give some kind of witty comeback. Perhaps tease Yami for the badass display. He couldn’t though. He averted his eyes from Yami’s face; looked away from the bleeding cut on his temple, a result of the pistol’s butt colliding with it and buried his face in the black fabric of the top Yami was wearing and allowed his eyes to close, hoping that this really meant that this ordeal, too, was over.

 

The last thought he had before drifting off the blessed unconsciousness was the observation that the ornament Yami wore around his chest had strange patterns on it from this close angle. He made the realization that the pyramidal shaped object must have been made of many parts; a puzzle, which was now put together to form this strange artifact. He didn’t know why the thought brought him the peace needed to completely let go of consciousness and embrace the darkness with calm and welcoming arms.

 

*-*-*-*-*-*

 

The police did not suspect that he was the one who crumpled all of those men to the ground.  He had played innocent, saying that he arrived to find them all unconscious as they were. Only one man had been awake, hit him, but he managed to fight him off.

 

Yugi was grateful –and just a little angry—at the policemen’s naivety. He could understand why Yami did not want to idle around waiting for them.

 

They were at the hospital now.

 

He and Seto were taken to the same place. There was a large sign with a white background with TRAUMA written on it in large bold font which was, unsurprisingly, red in color. Yugi could feel Yami’s fear at the alien place and realized that his Dark feared this place more than he feared walking alone into hostile territory to save Seto.

 

The protectiveness and unease that rolled off him ever since the paramedics arrived at the scene made his heart clench and bled through their link. The pain from the cut on his forehead forgotten, Yami hovered nervously over their shoulders as syringes were loaded, cannulae inserted and vitals measured. He didn’t understand the need for all of this and Yugi had to sternly ask him to let them do their jobs and not interfere when he wanted to just grab a dressing and start tending to the wounds that littered the older Kaiba’s back.

 

Yugi was feeling ill at the sight. Seto had to be transported lying on his stomach as the paramedics applied temporary dressings to his back. They had ushered Yami inside the ambulance as well so they could provide first aid to his bleeding forehead. Yami stoically kept still, still watching their treatment of Seto like a hawk, obviously not trusting them or the process going on before him.

 

Yugi was trying to calm him down. He felt exhausted suddenly. He was trying to let the day’s events sink in as well as deal with the pain that was making itself known. At the same time, he was trying to stop Yami from attacking the paramedics because he didn’t trust them or what they were doing. He was also trying not to think too much of why and how Yami was so clueless about health services. He was used to his Dark enquiring about simple things that came to people so naturally. Yugi would explain everything patiently to him. But Yugi honestly didn’t know what to make of his lack of knowledge of one of the most basic information in the world; that sick and injured people received care at a hospital.

 

He pushed all of that to the corner of his mind for now. They were sitting in the trauma room. The two  doctors present were both working with Seto. They had taken him to have X-rays done and Yami paced the area while waiting for them to return. He refused to sit. Mokuba had arrived fifteen minutes ago with Sugoroku. Jonouchi, Honda and Anzu arrived five minutes later.

 

Anzu was sitting next to an ashen-faced Mokuba, holding his hand and trying to calm him down. Jonouchi and Honda were standing next to the wall, twin concerned looks on their face. Sugoroku was at the cafeteria, getting them all some water.

 

There was absolute silence surrounding them for a long while, until Anzu got up suddenly. They all looked up at her questioningly. She had a determined look in her eyes and she was staring directly at Yami.

 

“Yugi, come with me,” she said and he stayed still for a few moments. Then, he got up, following her silently. When they were out of earshot, she muttered, “Your hands are covered in blood. Mokuba probably didn’t notice yet, but that’s his brother’s. We need to wash it off.”

 

Yami stared down at his hands. She was right. Yugi felt sickened. He was glad Yami was the one who was taking over his body right now because he was quite sure if their positions were switched, he would be throwing up the meager contents of stomach right now at the sight. It made him wonder what kind of strength Yami had to face what he did earlier and stare at the sight of that much blood and not react except by humming in agreement to Anzu’s suggestion, getting inside the restroom while she waited for him outside.

 

Yami stood in front of one of the sinks silently, looking down absentminded at the porcelain edge. He kept absolutely still for many minutes. Yugi’s worry increased tenfold.

 

“Are you alright, Yami…?” he asked timidly over their mind link. Yami stood in front of the sink, staring at it in silence. “Yami…?” Yugi tried once again. His Dark wasn’t moving at all, staring in mesmerized fascination at the crusted blood on his hands. He was observing every little detail, Yugi was disturbed to see, as he made note of the blood that seeped under his fingernails. “Yami!” he called once again, this time more forceful and assertive.

 

To his relief Yami blinked and acknowledged him, finally. He straightened and swallowed, looking ahead into the mirror. “I am fine, Aibou…” he mumbled in low tones, flicking the water on.

 

Yugi knew that he was anything but. He was sure of it when Yami placed his hands under the water and the powdery, crusty brown turned red and swirled down the drain. He was watching it in fascination that implied that he really wasn’t fine.

 

“Yami…he’s alright…” Yugi said. Yami agreed via their mind link. “You’ve done well, Yami. Who knows what would have happened to him in there? Do you understand me? It’s over now. He is going to recover and he’ll be back to annoying the hell out of you again.”

 

The corner of Yami’s mouth twitched up ever-so-slightly in amusement. Yugi was glad to see that he reached for the soap, pumping several dallops of it from the dispenser on his palm and starting to wash his hands properly. When he was done, he splashed his face with water, washing some of the blood off as well. He grabbed some paper towels and dried his face and hands and reemerged from the bathroom.

 

Anzu smiled encouragingly at him. “C’mon…let’s get that cut looked at. Kaiba is alright and they moved him to a private room. Mokuba’s already with him. We can visit once we get your own cut looked at.”

 

Yami followed her silently.

 

He had to get seven stitches to close the wound on his temple. He had a CT scan done first to make sure no internal bleeding was caused by the blow and that there weren’t any fractures to his skull. Luckily, there wasn’t any. He sat stoically in a perfect display of bravery while the doctor anesthetized the cut and started stitching it closed. Yugi offered to take his place but Yami adamantly refused, even though he was clearly terrified of what was going to happen. It was obvious to see that this was unfamiliar to him. The instruments looked too intimidating, the purpose of the procedure unknown to him. Yugi kept up a calm conversation to explain why this was done. He knew his words would help soothe the worry Yami felt and it was something he was eager to do.

 

With his head wrapped securely with bandages, Yami softly entered the private room where Seto had been moved. Jonouchi, Honda and Anzu had taken his grandfather home and gave Yami directions where Seto’s room was. They promised to return in the morning. They had tried persuading him to go home for a couple of hours, change and return with them later in the morning, but Yami refused.

 

He found Mokuba seated in the chair beside the bed, face blotched with tears and face too pale. Seto was asleep on his right side. Apparently, they placed him that way to avoid disrupting his torn back. Small lines of pain marred his features even in slumber. Mokuba was holding his good hand and Yami’s gaze lingered on the cast surrounding his left hand. There was an IV line attached to the back of his right one and, to Yugi’s surprise –and Yami’s horror—another IV line was placed at his neck.

 

Yami controlled himself enough not to reach up and touch it to investigate and make sure that no harm was coming to the brunet. He dragged a chair nearby and sat beside Mokuba.

 

“Why didn’t you go home?” the kid asked, taking a deep breath, wiping his face on his sleeve and trying to pull a brave face on.

 

“I’ll stay with both of you, it’s alright,” Yami replied quietly. He reached over and placed a hand on Mokuba’s shoulder, squeezing it comfortingly. “I’m here with you, Mokuba. Don’t worry.” Mokuba’s fragile strong façade crumpled and tears rolled down his cheeks again. He looked away, trying to hide his features.

 

Yami almost smiled in fondness at how alike Seto and Mokuba were. He averted his eyes, staring at Seto’s still form while giving Mokuba time to get himself under control once more. The silence stretched for a longer while, then Mokuba broke it once he was sure he wasn’t going to start crying once again.

 

“Did you see what they did to him?”

 

It was quiet. Almost a whisper.

 

Yami looked at him for a few moments, then looked away once again. “Not all of it.”

 

“Are you going to tell me?”

 

Yami was silent for a long while. Yugi wondered how he was going to respond to that. His Dark sighed and turned to face Mokuba. He smiled tightly, an apologetic look on his face. “I am sorry, Mokuba… I believe you will have to ask your brother about it. If he wants to tell you then he will.”

 

Mokuba looked disappointed. “He probably won’t.”

 

Yami did not comment. Yugi knew that he understood why Seto wouldn’t want to share what happened with his brother. It left Yugi feeling apprehensive that Yami was keeping things from him to protect him. Like Seto was doing with Mokuba…

 

His mind was going in circles. He was tired but stayed awake. Mokuba’s tears and worry and the fact that he was now sure his brother was safe with him once again, caused him to fall asleep in his chair.

 

Dawn had broken through the darkness of the sky which was still grey and covered in a thick layer of clouds that promised more rain to come. Yami got up and closed the curtains so that the light wouldn’t disturb Seto or Mokuba. Then, he moved the younger boy from the uncomfortable chair to the little sofa placed against the wall of the room. He covered him with an extra blanket and returned to his seat beside Seto.

 

Just minutes later, the brunet started waking up.

 

*-*-*-*-*-*

 

Waking up this time was no less painful than the last few times.

 

He didn’t want to open his eyes. He didn’t want to wake up. Waking up meant they had something new to do to him. Waking up meant more pain and he was having trouble dealing with the agony rushing through every corner of his body right now.

 

Something was different this time, though. His bony hips did not scrape against cold stone. His head was cradled by something soft. The pain was there but it was different. It wasn’t as sharp. It dulled to a maddening ache. He could feel his face scrunching up in discomfort and he tried moving only to regret it seconds later. Against his will, a pained groan escaped his mouth unchecked.

 

He was trying to control the pain surging through him anew when he felt someone placing a steadying hand on his shoulder. “Don’t move,” a soft, familiar voice commanded, forcing him to open his eyes to take a look around him to see what the hell was going on.

 

He almost sighed out in relief when his gaze was met by a white and grey furnished room instead of a dark stone cell. Instead, the sigh somehow became a gasp that he couldn’t hold in. it was as if he had been deprived of air for a very long while and was now allowed to breathe. It was partially true, now that he thought of it and memories of cold, dark water surrounding him came rushing back. Once again, he gasped before he could exhale the air he had taken in just seconds ago. He was panicking and he didn’t even know why. He tried pulling away from unknown danger, blinded by panic and fear. He cried out once more when his back protested loudly.

 

The familiar voice was back again, “Calm down. You’re safe. It’s over.”

 

Seto’s eyes shifted up towards the source of the voice. His heart, previously hammering loudly in his ears, started calming considerably when he found a pair of concerned crimson eyes staring down at him. Everything rushed back to his mind and he started calming down, succumbing to Yami’s steadying hands. He looked around him, the panic lingering just a little bit. It was obvious he was in a hospital room. It really was over.

 

His eyes fell on the form huddled under a blanket on the sofa against the wall. Whatever traces of fear that still lingered within him completely faded as he recognized the mop of dark, unruly black hair and the striped, long-sleeved t-shirt his brother was wearing last time he saw him. he settled against the pillow, not taking his eyes off his brother, gratefulness making his chest tighten unbearably.

 

“Is Mokuba alright?” he couldn’t help asking. His voice was rasping, almost unheard with how his scratched throat was suffering, unable to carry out its function properly. He cringed slightly at the sound.

 

“Yes, he is. He just fell asleep…” Yami reassured him.

 

At that, Seto stared up at him. his eyes fell on the bruised side of Yami’s face…the bandages that surrounded his head. He frowned.

 

“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” he felt the need to explain. He wanted to apologize. He wanted Yami to understand. He didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt.

 

“Shhhh…” the sound was so familiar. He had already associated it with safety once before. It calmed his agitation. Yami sat down in the seat next to the bed and tilted his head slightly. “Don’t worry about anything right now. Just focus on getting better. Nothing else matters now.”

 

A part of him wanted to protest at being told what to do. Some stubborn, stupid part of him. but he was still too tired and in pain to argue so he decided that maybe, just this once, he wouldn’t disagree. He allowed his body to relax as much as it could into the soft mattress, half-burying his face into the pillow. He paused, though, when he felt something tugging at the skin of his neck. He raised his hand to it, touching the strange thing attached to it tentatively.

 

“Don’t touch it,” Yami admonished, grabbing his wrist and gently pulling it away.

 

It was obviously something important. Seto let him place his hand back on the bed. He looked at him, frowning slightly. “Does Mokuba know…?” he asked in a small voice.

 

“He asked,” Yami answered him. “I didn’t tell him anything. I told him to talk to you about it. if you want to tell him, you will.”

 

Seto closed his eyes, the relief at Yami’s maturity and good sense of judgment causing his body to relax fully. He could sleep now. Mokuba’s questions would be a battle he would have to fight some other time. For now, though, he surrendered to the pull of sleep at his tired body.

 

“Sleep. I will not leave you both alone,” Yami urged and Seto imagined a hand running through his hair.

 

It was a very soothing sensation and, for the first time in the past few very, very long weeks, he felt safe. He was asleep again within just a few minutes.

 

*-*-*-*-*-*

 the end...


End file.
